Bridesmaids

by Jane Costello

  ‘Very good, Georgia, and you too, Grace,’ she says. ‘Evie, really, if you could just take a leaf out of Grace’s book, you’d be fine.’

  I bite my lip and glance sympathetically over to Edmund as he stands at the front with Patrick–his best man–next to him.

  We go through the vows four more times until, finally, Valentina is happy with everything.

  ‘Now everyone,’ she concludes, ‘I’ll see you all tomorrow, and don’t be late. That includes you, pumpkin,’ she adds, flashing a smile at Edmund. He leans over and kisses her on the nose, looking utterly besotted.

  As people start to head for home, Valentina makes a beeline for Grace, Charlotte and me.

  ‘Can I just say that I don’t know what the matter is,’ she snaps, ‘but all three of you look like you’re rehearsing for a funeral, not a wedding. And, yes, that includes you, Charlotte.’

  ‘I’m just a bit tired,’ she says. ‘I’ve had a busy week at work.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Valentina replies huffily. ‘Although I hadn’t thought working at the Inland Thingumijig was particularly pressurized.’

  Charlotte simply shrugs.

  ‘And, Evie,’ Valentina goes on, ‘buck up, will you? You’ve just been promoted, for goodness’ sake! I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that mean that it might not be long before you can go and work for a proper newspaper?’

  I am considering whether or not to dignify this with an answer when Valentina turns to Grace.

  ‘Now, Grace,’ says Valentina, ‘what on earth have you got to be down in the dumps about? You managed to bag a lovely husband before any of the rest of us.’

  ‘I’m all right, Valentina,’ says Grace. ‘Honestly. I’m just tired, like Charlotte. I’ll be fine tomorrow. We all will be.’

  Valentina frowns. ‘Well, I do hope so,’ she says, turning on her heels. ‘Because God knows what the High Life! team will think otherwise.’

  Chapter 107

  ‘Does anybody want a lift?’ asks Grace when we get outside the church.

  ‘I’ve got my car with me,’ I tell her.

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ says Charlotte.

  ‘Come on, Charlotte,’ Grace urges. ‘We go right past your flat. How are you going to get home otherwise?’

  ‘Oh, I feel like the walk,’ says Charlotte. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it’s starting to rain. Tell her, Patrick, it’s no trouble.’

  Patrick is standing at the driver’s door of his Audi, ready to go.

  ‘Actually, I could do with getting straight back, Grace,’ he says.

  ‘What are you on about?’ says Grace. ‘It’s on the way.’

  ‘Really,’ Charlotte interrupts. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘See? She’s fine,’ says Patrick. ‘Now, come on.’ He gets into the car and slams the door.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ says Grace, looking bemused. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then. Bye, Evie.’

  When Grace is in the car, it reverses and speeds out of the church grounds like something being driven by Michael Schumacher.

  ‘Christ, he’s in a hurry,’ I say. ‘Why didn’t you want to go with them?’

  Charlotte shrugs. ‘I really could do with the walk,’ she says.

  ‘In this rain?’ I query. ‘All that diet food must have got to your brain.’

  She smiles.

  ‘You’re welcome to come with me, if you want,’ I offer.

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind,’ she says, slightly to my surprise.

  ‘You’ll just have to move a few McDonald’s cartons first,’ I tell her. ‘And don’t let my mother know you’ve seen them, she’d disown me.’

  As I reverse out of the car park and head in the direction of Charlotte’s flat with her in the passenger seat, I turn the radio on low enough for us to be able to talk over it.

  ‘So what do you reckon?’ I say. ‘Are you and I always going to be the bridesmaids and never the brides?’

  I’m trying to be jolly but there’s something about the way it comes out that makes me sound like I want to slit my wrists.

  ‘It’s looking increasingly like it,’ she says, trying to smile.

  ‘But, hey, single isn’t that bad, is it?’ I say with the forced enthusiasm of a primary school PE teacher. ‘In fact, it’s quite fun, I think. I enjoy being able to go out when I like and with whom I like, whenever I like, and not have to justify myself to anyone else, thank you very much.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she says.

  ‘I mean, who wants to get married anyway?’ I continue. ‘All you’re doing is condemning yourself to a lifetime of conversation with the same person. How dull must that be?’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ says Charlotte reluctantly. ‘Being single isn’t that bad.’

  ‘And all this wedding malarkey,’ I rant. ‘I mean, at the end of the day, it’s just a bloody big expensive party, isn’t it? All that money, thrown away on one party! Think of all the other things you could buy.’

  There’s a silence.

  ‘Like what?’ says Charlotte finally.

  ‘Well,’ I say, determined to prove my point, ‘you could go on holiday. A brilliant holiday. God, you could go anywhere–and fly first-class too. You could sit at the front sipping champagne and getting your bunions massaged, while the oiks in Economy battle with the lids of their in-flight meals and get snotty remarks from the flight attendants. Fantastic.’

  She nods. Then says: ‘By yourself though.’

  I frown. ‘I thought we were agreed there was nothing wrong with by yourself,’ I say.

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Okay, let me think of a better example…’ I pause for a few seconds to make sure it’s a good one.

  ‘Okay–just think of all the shoes you could buy,’ I say.

  ‘You sound like Valentina,’ Charlotte giggles.

  I groan. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Then you could give the money to help starving children in Africa.’

  I’d meant it to be flippant, but the second I say it, we both know I couldn’t have picked a worse example to illustrate the point than something my ex-boyfriend does every day. As I continue driving silently, I look over at Charlotte, who is staring straight ahead with a very peculiar look on her face.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I ask.

  It takes her a moment before she says anything.

  ‘Can I tell you something, Evie?’ she asks.

  ‘Of course,’ I say immediately. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’m in love,’ she says.

  She couldn’t sound more matter-of-fact if she’d just told me she was off to the shops to buy some turnips. My mouth drops open in complete and utter amazement.

  ‘Hey, that’s fantastic!’ I exclaim. ‘Who with?’

  She hesitates then takes a deep breath, before turning to look straight at me.

  ‘With Patrick,’ she says. ‘I’m in love with Patrick.’

  Chapter 108

  It’s done entirely subconsciously, but Starsky and Hutch have got nothing on the way I swerve my VW Golf to the side of the road, throwing Charlotte against the passenger door with the sheer force of the manoeuvre. When I’m confident I haven’t accidentally run someone over, I pull the handbrake on and turn to her, barely able to believe what I’ve just heard.

  ‘Patrick who?’ I ask, in the vain hope there there has been a terrible mix-up and she’s actually referring to some bloke who works in her local chip shop–and not our best friend’s husband.

  ‘Patrick Patrick,’ she says.

  ‘Patrick Patrick who?’

  ‘Patrick Cunningham.’

  I shake my head, unable to compute this piece of information.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ I say, frowning. ‘You’re telling me that you are in love with Patrick? With our Patrick? With Grace’s Patrick?’

  ‘I know it sounds hard to believe.’

  ‘Hard to believe? Charlotte, he’s married to our best friend.’

  ‘Your best
friend, Evie,’ she mutters.

  My eyes widen. ‘So not only are you in love with her husband but she’s now no longer your friend?’ I ask, incredulous.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ she replies.

  I stare straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel.

  ‘Well…how long have you felt like this?’ I ask, trying to stay calm.

  ‘From the moment I met him,’ she tells me. ‘Seven years, to be exact. I’ve felt like this ever since I first set eyes on him. I’ve never stopped loving him.’

  The last sentence makes my blood run cold. How could I have not seen this? How could any of us have not seen this? My mind is a whirl of thoughts, not least how matter-of-fact Charlotte appears to be about the situation.

  ‘But Charlotte,’ I say, my voice torn between sympathy and exasperation, ‘Patrick loves Grace. And Grace loves Patrick. They have a family. Whatever your feelings for him, you need to put a stop to them now. For your own sake. Because, Grace and Patrick–they’re solid as a rock.’

  She gives a snort of derision.

  ‘What was that for?’ I ask, shocked.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it, Evie.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I’m just saying,’ she continues. ‘You speak as if the very idea of me and Patrick being together is ridiculous.’

  ‘It is ridiculous,’ I tell her, my voice rising uncontrollably.

  Now Charlotte looks really annoyed.

  ‘It might have been six months ago, Evie,’ she says. ‘But I’m as thin and…and fashionable…and attractive as anyone now.’

  ‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’ I say.

  She frowns. ‘I’m just saying, the idea is not so ridiculous any more,’ she says, her fury palpable.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I think about Grace and the kids. I think about how distraught she’s been about Patrick. I think about the fact that they’ve only been married a couple of months. For the first time ever, my feelings towards Charlotte are not entirely positive ones.

  ‘Charlotte,’ I say, ‘you losing a load of weight has got nothing to do with this. The idea is a ridiculous one–not because you’re not pretty enough for him–but because you’re talking about our friend and her husband. About Grace and Patrick. Where’s your loyalty?’

  She gives another snort. And there’s something about it which really sends me over the edge.

  ‘Listen,’ I say, turning to her, ‘you need to forget this whole thing, Charlotte. Because you are never going to get together with Patrick, do you hear me? Never.’

  The blood is rising to Charlotte’s cheeks now.

  ‘That, Evie,’ she says quietly, ‘is where you’re wrong.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said, that’s where you’re wrong,’ she continues, her face flaming. ‘Patrick and I very much would get together. In fact, Patrick and I already have.’

  Chapter 109

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I ask, dreading the answer.

  ‘At your mum’s wedding,’ says Charlotte. ‘You know I told you I’d kissed someone? Well, it was Patrick.’

  I don’t say anything.

  ‘In fact,’ she continues, ‘we didn’t just kiss.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Charlotte is clearly wondering whether or not she should go on. But there’s no going back now–and she knows it.

  ‘I’d…I’d gone for a walk to clear my head,’ she says, her voice wobbling. ‘I was feeling a bit drunk and–well, I found him doing the same thing. Just sitting–clearing his head. And so we started to talk. We talked and talked. And he told me things that you haven’t got a clue about, Evie. That Grace hasn’t even got a clue about.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Then…well…it just happened. We started kissing.’

  She pauses, unsure whether to say any more.

  ‘And?’

  She sighs. ‘One thing led to another, as they say. And…we…we…’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘We had sex,’ she says defiantly. ‘There–you happy now? Patrick and I…we had sex.’

  My eyes nearly pop out of my head.

  ‘In the field?’ I say, appalled. ‘In the field when my mum’s wedding reception was happening next door?’

  Charlotte’s lip is still wobbling, but she’s not backing down.

  ‘Yes, in the field,’ she says, determined to hold her head high. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I say. But, actually, I do.

  ‘It’s true,’ she replies. ‘Ask him yourself if you like. But it’s absolutely true.’

  I am supposed to be employed as a wordsmith, but somehow words are failing me. I find myself just sitting, muttering under my breath, like a character from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

  ‘How could you?’ I finally say. ‘How could you do this to Grace?’

  ‘I couldn’t help it,’ she whimpers, less defiant now. ‘I mean it, Evie, I really couldn’t help it.’

  ‘Of course you could help it!’ I cry.

  ‘Let me put it this way,’ she continues. ‘What you’re feeling about Jack at the moment: the heartbreak, the intensity, the pain–well, you’ve felt like that for a few weeks now. I’ve felt like that for seven years. Seven long years. You just couldn’t begin to imagine what it’s been like.’

  I close my eyes. ‘I don’t think I know you very well any more, Charlotte,’ I whisper. It’s all I can think of.

  She grabs my hand.

  ‘Don’t say that, Evie,’ she pleads. ‘You’re my best friend. Please try to understand.’

  ‘Do you even recognize what you’ve done is wrong?’ I ask.

  Charlotte sighs. ‘I know what I’ve done isn’t right,’ she says, ‘given that they’re married. Of course. But I also know that doing the right thing has got me nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.’

  I look into her eyes. ‘Charlotte,’ I say, ‘you are one of my oldest friends. You know that I would do anything for you. But if you’re responsible for breaking up that marriage, I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive you. I really don’t.’

  She puts her head in her hands and sobs silently. She sobs and she sobs, for I don’t know how long. Finally, she lifts her head up.

  ‘I won’t break up their marriage,’ she says.

  ‘How are you so sure?’

  She sniffs. ‘Believe me, I’m sure,’ she says, taking another pause for breath. ‘He…he…made us stop almost immediately.’

  ‘Go on.’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘That’s how quickly he regretted it. God Almighty. I’ve been trying to kid myself into thinking it might have been the start of something. But I managed to make someone regret sleeping with me before it was even over.’

  ‘So what happened?’ I ask reluctantly, not particularly wanting the gory details but knowing I’ve got to hear them.

  ‘He was so drunk,’ she confesses. ‘Not just drunk, actually, he could barely stand up. I can still picture him now, fumbling to zip his trousers up and virtually running away from me. And now, well, he’s not even spoken to me since it happened. He hates me.’

  Charlotte is sobbing hysterically, but I can barely bring myself to look at her. Then something else strikes me.

  ‘I’ve got to tell Grace, you know,’ I say.

  She turns to me with panic in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ she says. ‘Please don’t do that.’

  ‘She’s my best friend,’ I say. ‘I’ve got to tell her.’

  Charlotte starts shaking her head.

  ‘No. No, you can’t,’ she gabbles. ‘She’s got two children. A family. You telling her is only going to be the fastest way to destroy that.’

  I hesitate, biting one of my nails.

  ‘But how could I keep this a secret from her?’ I ask.

  ‘All you would be doing is unburdening yourself,’ she says. ‘Tell her, and she and Patrick won’t last th
e year.’

  ‘How did you become so concerned for her and Patrick all of a sudden?’ It comes out before I can stop myself.

  ‘Hate me as much as you want, Evie,’ she says dully. ‘But what I’m saying is the truth.’

  We sit in silence again.

  ‘I don’t hate you, Charlotte,’ I tell her. ‘I just can’t believe this is happening. And I just can’t see how I can keep this from Grace. I’d feel like a bloody accomplice.’

  ‘Listen,’ she says, ‘don’t say anything tomorrow at the very least. Not on Valentina’s wedding day. It’d ruin everything. Just sit on it for a few days, then you’ll realize what I’m saying is right.’

  I don’t know what the hell to do. Going along with Charlotte now is not something I feel particularly inclined to do. But she’s undoubtedly right about Valentina’s wedding day being the wrong time and place.

  ‘A few days, then,’ I decide. ‘I’ll think about it for a few days–that’s all I’m promising.’

  ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Good.’ She wipes her eyes.

  ‘There’s one thing I don’t get though,’ I say, partly wondering why I’m even telling her this. ‘Patrick’s been acting strangely since well before my mum’s wedding. He’s been…odd…for months now.’

  Charlotte bites her lip.

  ‘I think I might be able to shed some light on that,’ she mumbles.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘This is what our talk was about. Our long talk, before…’

  ‘Well, what?’ I say. ‘Come on, spit it out.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ says Charlotte, taking another deep breath. ‘Patrick has lost his job.’

  Chapter 110

  Grace and Patrick’s house, Saturday, 21 July

  ‘I want to wear my bra,’ whines Polly.

  ‘You can’t, I’ve told you,’ says Grace, grabbing some baby food out of the microwave with one hand and brushing her hair with the other. ‘Five-year-olds do not wear bras.’

  ‘I bet Evie will be wearing a bra,’ Polly replies. ‘Won’t you, Evie?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ I tell her. ‘But I’m a 34B–and you’re not.’

  Polly pouts.